


Turning Tables

by nora_writes



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel, fitzsimmons - Fandom
Genre: Leo Fitz/Jemma Simmons - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-17 12:57:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3530249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nora_writes/pseuds/nora_writes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What would happen if Jemma Simmons was the one damaged in the pod-scene instead of Fitz?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the wonderful full_time_dreamer_behold! I never would have posted this without her help! The chapters will probably be quite brief, but I plan to post them more often than once every two weeks.

   Jemma Simmons was extremely lucky. Well, as lucky as one could be while trapped in a box, 90 feet below the ocean's surface. She may not have had water, or food, or even a way to signal for help, but none of that mattered. Jemma Simmons had the four things that would guarantee her survival: a plan of action, two half-empty canisters of oxygen, and most importantly, Leo Fitz.

   "The plan is simple, really," said Fitz, tossing her one of the half-empty canisters. "On the count of three I'll press the button, which will trigger the ignition, resulting in the implosion of the window. As you know, Jemma, when the water rushes in, it will cause a dramatic change of pressure. It'll knock the wind out of you for a moment, which is why you need to hold on tight. Understand?" Fitz's hands were cold and clammy as he wrapped them around Jemma's, emphasizing how important it was to grip the canister with all of her might. She wasn't sure, but for a moment she thought she could feel him trembling.

   "I understand, Fitz. I'm not stupid," said Jemma, amused. Brown eyes met blue, instantly stifling Jemma's gentle laughter.

   "No, I don't think you do. It's going to feel like 100 punches to the stomach. No matter what happens, you cannot panic. Panic will result in death, and the whole point of the plan is for us both to make it out alive. Stick to the plan, and nothing can go wrong. Do you understand me, Jemma?"

   "Yes Fitz, I do," replied Jemma, startled by how intense Fitz's wild-eyed gaze had become. "Stick to the plan, just like you said."

   The last thing that Jemma remembered was absolute silence, broken by the ghost of Fitz's voice. _One. Two. Three._

***

 _My head hurts. Why does my head hurt so much?_ Jemma lifted her hand to examine her forehead, but the movement was halted by a tight strap fastened around her wrist. _Where am I?_ She felt a sudden jolt of panic run from her head to her toes, but a rigid brace around her neck kept her from surveying the situation. Even if she could move her head, she wouldn't have been able to see anything. Every time Jemma opened her eyes, her vision was flooded with a blinding light from every angle. _Why is everything so bright? Where am I? Where's Fitz? Oh my god. Fitz._

   "Fitz!" Jemma tried to yell, but all that came out was muffled grunt. She tried tugging at her limbs, but the bonds held their unbreakable grip. "Fitz, where are you?" Still, nothing but a squawk escaped her lips. She began violently thrashing about the bed, suddenly aware of a tight belt around her waist. _I need to get out of here. I need to find Fitz._

   "Shh, Jemma, calm down," said a familiar voice as strong hands pinned her shoulders to the bed. "Somebody go get the doctor, now! She's waking up! Simmons is waking up!" She tried to focus on who was standing above her, but the light was still too bright. She could tell that it was a man, but she knew it wasn't Fitz.

   "Jemma, I need you to calm down. You're just fine. Everybody's fine. I need you to stop slamming yourself against the bed though, okay? You don't want to cause any further damage." _What damage? If I'm fine then there shouldn't be any damage to begin with._

   The voice continued droning on, but soon became background noise to the rumble of footsteps rushing into the room. Jemma struggled with all of her might, trying to break free of the downward pressure on her shoulders. She had to communicate with them. She had to know what had happened to Fitz.

"Somebody do something, she's going to hurt herself," cried out the voice again. "No, stop. I need to get up. I need to know what's happened to Fitz," she tried to say. Nothing. It felt as though her mouth was filled with marbles, snuffing out the words before they could reach her lips.

Jemma suddenly felt herself growing lighter and lighter by the second, her vision beginning to darken. _No, please stop. I don't want to sleep again. I need to know what's happened to Fitz._ Before she could conjugate another thought, the world faded away.


	2. Chapter 2

    "I can't believe it's all gone," said Jemma, passing a hand over her bristly scalp. She took extra caution to not run her fingers over the bumpy, rugged scar that streaked across her skull; it still gave her shivers every time she touched it. _I've just come out of a coma, and all I can think about is my hair._

    "Are you sure you're ready to talk about what happened in the pod, Simmons?" asked Coulson, stretching to relieve the ache in his lower back. Jemma had been awake for two and a half days, and he had been by her side for every waking moment of it. _Curse these plastic chairs,_ Coulson thought to himself. _We're a government agency, for crying out loud. The least we could do is buy some comfortable seating._ "You've only been awake for a few days now, and I don't want to rush you. It's not like you're not going to find out eventually, I just want to make sure you're okay first."

    "No, I'm... I want to know. I'm ready," replied Jemma. The medications were messing with her brain; it felt as though she was running and running as fast as she could, but the words were always just out of reach. It was almost as if they were dangling right in front of her very eyes, only to be yanked away at the last second. "It's like I'm about to explode, not knowing what happened. Everybody keeps looking at me like they can't believe I'm alive, and I want to know why."

    "You've been unconscious for eleven days, Jemma," said Coulson, taking Jemma's shaking hands into his own. He watched as her eyes filled with bewilderment, followed quickly by fear.

    "I.. I don't understand. How can that be?" Her heartbeat quickened, and suddenly she wasn't so sure that she wanted to hear what he was about to say.

    " When the window imploded, there was a lot of force behind it. You were hit, Jemma, hard. We're not sure whether it was a piece of machinery, or maybe a medical kit, but whatever it was, we know that it was heavy. It knocked you out instantly, fracturing your skull and giving you a grade 3 concussion. You're lucky Fitz was there. He pulled you out of the pod and swam you to the surface. He saved your life."

    "I still don't understand, sir," said Jemma after a long pause. "A concussion wouldn't leave me unconscious for nearly two weeks."

    " You were hit extremely hard. Whatever hit you caused extreme swelling in the brain. In order to drain the fluids, they had to cut out a small portion of your skull and insert a tube. You understand the medical side of this far more than I do, I'm just repeating what they told me."

    She didn't understand, though. Something still wasn't adding up. "Does this mean that I'll be allowed to return to the lab once I'm back to normal?"

    Jemma had always found comfort in Coulson's all-knowing eyes, but today all she found was sorrow. His suit jacket was wrinkled and stale with the scent of cheap coffee and pity, and his tie was severely askew. She noticed that the side table was littered with 8 oz Styrofoam cups, half-empty packets of sugar, and a pile of coffee-stirring sticks. Coulson had taken his coffee unsweetened as long as Jemma could remember; he must have been under a lot of stress if he was suddenly craving sugar.

    "There's more, Jemma," he said, squeezing her hand to get her attention. "Fitz swam with you as fast as he could, but you were still without oxygen for a great deal of time. The doctors believe that you're suffering from cerebral hypoxia, a condition in which the brain experiences a severe-"

    "Lack of oxygen. I know, I just-" Jemma stammered. She ripped her hand from Coulson's grip and covered her face, ashamed of the tears that were beginning to pour down her cheeks. _How could this happen to me? What have I done to cause this,_ Jemma thought to herself. 

    Coulson froze, unsure of how to comfort her. He had never been very good at this sort of thing. He gave her a few moments to collect her emotions before he continued. "As you know, Simmons, brain cells are extremely sensitive when it comes to hypoxia. After just a few minutes of oxygen-deprivation, the cells begin to rapidly die off. While you suffered from a major concussion, the doctor's believe that the oxygen is what pushed your body into comatose. We're still not aware of how severe the brain damage-"

    "Stop, please!" shouted Jemma, repelled by the sound of Coulson's voice. "I don't believe you. I can't believe you. It's not true." Her weeping took hold of her entire being; her sobs shaking her bones and beating upon her shoulders. It felt as though a fire were starting in the depths of her stomach, boiling her blood and setting her thoughts aflame. _How could one be so devastated and so angry, all at the same time?_

    "I know, sweetheart, I know," said Coulson softly, taking her into his arms. He felt tears of his own begin to trickle down his face, and in that moment he vowed to himself that the next time he saw Grant Ward would be behind the sights of his gun.


End file.
